


I'm going to make it better, I promise.

by turva_auto



Series: Jääkiekko - ice hockey [12]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drabble, Gun Violence, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Triggers, Violence, mentions of robbery, no one plays Hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 10:59:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6851989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turva_auto/pseuds/turva_auto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonny is on his way but he is running late, after the photo set he finished abroad. Patrick tries to cope on his own. Will he manage or not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm going to make it better, I promise.

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble deals with graphical self-harm, please do not read if you do not like. There also occurs a mostly off-screen robbery. Violence and guns are mentioned briefly.

Jonathan sighs heavily glaring at the clock at the end of the hall. He was supposed to be home right now, he had promised it. But instead he found himself stuck at Winnipeg James Armstrong Richardson international airport unable to board because the airport was currently blocked by the blizzard going on outside. Thank you Canada so very very much! - Jonathan thought bitterly. As long as Air control wasn't advising things to be safe, no plane would get off. He should have touched down in Chicago O’Hare 7 hours ago and went home, to be with the only guy he truly loved.

 

He fidget on his seat with impatience. He wanted to get away from here. Patrick needed him and he knew there currently was nothing worse than letting him down. Jonny found himself praying for the blizzard to ease, praying for Patrick to stay calm enough and not loose it. He couldn't even call him, cause the battery of his cell phone died a few hours ago. New years eve was just a couple of hours away and Jonathan was truly fucked up. His plan had been to be huddled up on the sofa by now, holding Patrick close. It was hard enough to leave him for the few days he had - 2 in total - but work needed to be done, that it was near his hometown in Canada was just a coincidence of things. The amount of money for the photo set Jonny had to do was ridiculously high and he couldn't refuse a good offer. Patrick wasn't really able to earn a lot recently. He was studying and this took up most of his time, but since the robbery at the coffee shop in downtown, he had been working at, not even study was coming easy to his boyfriend.

 

“Can't believe a few photo's got me stuck over here.” Jonathan hissed to himself glaring at the tiles on the floor.

“Flight AC3570 to Chicago O’Hare international airport is now open for boarding.” The familiar, yet unknown voice called out through the loudspeakers. Jonathan Toews jumped from his seat in lightning speed. Finally they seemed to be getting somewhere. Only now, he noticed all the people rushing around again, filling the airport and the gate with the usual hum of busyness. He had been too caught up in his own worry to notice before, as he scattered his stuff together and lined up for boarding. The stewardess gave him a warm smile and he smiled back with more relief, than he usually would master in a situation like this, making the young lady blush furiously. He was just glad, that he might make it in time before midnight at least, even though he would be horribly late all the same.

Meanwhile Patrick was perched onto the sofa in the living room, trying to focus on the aimless reality TV-show he had put on after browsing through the DVR, ESPN and Food network Jonny liked to watch without settling on anything, but it didn't help him ease his nerves. Jonny should have been back early this evening, but still he was alone at home. No trace of the Canadian with the big warm brown eyes and his messy mop of brownish Disney prince hair. 

 

He had a clipboard on his knees, a paper fastened firmly in place and the pencil still swirling around in his hand. He really was trying hard to distract himself. Trying even harder to get rid of the feeling, that Jonny would not be coming back, that maybe he left him because Patrick was being so difficult. Maybe Jonathan was with someone else? Someone better than him, someone less complicated, scary and insane.

Patrick  was glaring onto the front of the paper for more than one hour by now. He started of pretty well, the outlines were clean and neat, the shadows accurate, as the feeling of disgust had risen suddenly, grabbing hold of him like a drowning wave.

He hated it, how childish was it to draw some stupid lines on a piece of paper, when the hate was inside of him? The hate of having failed to defend himself. Patrick started to pull thick black lines of marker over his drawing, usually he used it to finish up the details and to accent highlights, now he just pushed the pen across two hours of distraction. Every line thicker than before, pulled with more force. Pat wished the pen would be a knife, a razor or something similar sharp and the paper would be his body. It didn't help him to cope. Maybe it would work the other way around?

He yanked back the sleeve of his dark grey pullover, revealing all the tiny red marks, that scattered around there from the past months. 

Jonny would be here usually, to hold him and help him get away from the urge to hurt himself. He would sooth him and he would cling to him for dear life. The older Canadian would hush away the guilt and the fear and the feeling of being a sassy pussy, a little kid, someone weak, undeserving of love. 

Jonathan would make it all better, kiss his lips sweetly, saying all the right things at the right moment. Jonny would even fuck him hard for hours on end, if it would bring Patrick back to himself and off the cliff, no matter if he couldn't walk like a normal person for three days afterwards. 

Jonny would do everything for him.

 

Patrick grabbed the pen tighter, bringing it down to his arm, as he suddenly remembered what the therapist in the hospital once had told him. That one time, since Jonathan Toews was part of his life, when Patrick had taken things too far and Jonny hadn’t been around fast enough to save Patrick from himself. He started to draw a butterfly quickly followed by another one and shortly after his entire arm was covered with scraps of butterflies. but instead of calming him down, he still felt the rage of hate boiling inside of him. The anger flaring like a hot fire straight from hell.

No pain to cover up, no relief at all! Patrick pulled hard on his short blonde hair in pure frustration, missing the longer curls he have had, that would offer him more leverage to pull tighter,  nevertheless he could feel the skin on his head stinging from the assault.

“It's just one more hour for sure. Jonny will be back in one more hour. He will not leave me behind. He is for sure on his way.” he sobbed to himself, but no matter how often he repeated it, the feeling grew stronger and more intense. It felt as if the self hate and fear would split him apart. 

It was unlikely that anyone would get past the security staff downstairs or into the condo they called their home, a little apartment in Trump Tower, overlooking the Chicago river, nor even through the door. But Patrick was sure and convinced someone would break into their refuge any second, with a gun in his hand aiming for him, like it had happened, back those few months in the coffee shop down at LaSalle.

 

"He's just a phone call away!!!" Pat screamed on top of his lungs into the semi dark room, as evening set outside and turned into night. In an attempt to get a grip on himself Patrick checked his cellphone once again, without any news and tried ringing Jonny for what felt like the billionth of times, with his call going straight to the provider company saying he was unavailable, he didn't even reach his voicemail. Nervously Pat paced up and down the room, kicking the couch in an attempt to release his tension. His blue eyes searching for something, anything to get him off the edge and back to sanity. He could feel the reality slipping further away from him. 

It started as usual with chills, then his feet went kind of numb, followed by his hands, as he stopped drawing, frantically his gaze wandered up and down, feeling the cold numbness creeping up his spine and front, slowly engulfing his heart, until he felt detached from himself, like a stranger passing by. He needed Jonathan, he needed a hug, he needed him to be back home, not in some other stupid country, even if it was fucking Winterpeg up in Canada. 

Maybe he was already in the car? Maybe he was naked in someone else's bed? It would only been fair, after all the worry Patrick had put him through in the last couple of months. Clinging to Jonny for dear life like a little lost puppy at every given opportunity, on every single day. He had been desperate and tried to move on, away from the drama of those shocking moments, when the guy entered the coffee shop aiming the gun straight at his face, demanding money from him. He had tried so hard.

 

Patrick was shaking by now and tried calming his breathing down like Jonny had showed him so many times before, but failing miserably, trying his hardest to fight the urge of self mutilation. He couldn't cope with it, too caught up in the memory replaying in front of his eyes. His gaze fell on the pencil sharpener next to his sketchbook, on the little wooden coffee table in front of the TV - he no longer was able to hear. The blood was rushing in his ears, drowning out every other sound, the light reflected in the dim night onto the little object. Sharp revolution.

He picked it up, looking closely at the screw, that was holding the blade in place, before he knew it his clumsy fingers were already trying to unscrew it, but the little piece of metal was resistant. The blonde young man tried to get it open with his teeth and finally the plastic splintered, piercing his bottom lip in the process.

Tasting the tiny bit of blood in his mouth, pushed the final switch for Pat. The Buffalo native spat out the blade into the palm of his hand, picking it back up with his fingers and brought it down to his right forearm and surely but slowly violent poisoned crimson lines ripped apart the wings of the butterflies. 

Patrick didn't really realise what he was doing. He wasn't aware of the force he used, to sink the blade deep into his own flesh, too concentrated on the sting of pain rippling through his body, leaving behind a trace of calmness, that his brain had been seeking for most of the time. 

All thoughts about Jonathan left him, all fear slipping out of focus, covered up in the pain, that was connected to the gashes in his arm. 

The tears were falling freely from his eyes now, as he started to get back from his pain induced high, realising just how much damage he had caused. The sleeve of his pullover no longer grey, but dark red from blood and splashes of it covering the thighs of his sweatpants. Red rivulets still running down the ruined skin, to drop and add to the mess in his lap.

 

“Fuck.” Pat started to take it in, for the first time since his head had gone high wire. He dragged his pullover over his head, the fabric already ruined anyway and pressed it onto his wounded arm. The soft woolen fabric scratching at the fresh wounds, making him hiss out. He had failed to control himself -he only realised now. The tears pouring down his cheeks as shame washed over him. Jonny would be so disappointed with him. Jonny would surely hate him. He had broken his promise, the little deal they had agreed on, for days like today, when stuff was tough and Jonny not with him.

 

The flight lasted two hours and fifteen minutes as Jonathan finally touched down in Chicago at ten in the evening, rushing to get his camera equipment and luggage, jumping into the rental car that he had booked like the devil would chase him down the streets, in a last minute decision before boarding. 

He had a bad feeling and the evening glow outside wasn't making him relax. Not paying attention to traffic rules in general, running over several red lights to start the list off with, followed by speeding, Jonny headed home in a fast pace. Not reckless to cause an accident - he had learned after hitting that support beam of the El two years or so ago -  but still very fast, to be a potential danger for others around him. Luckily he didn’t attract police interest. He parked the car in the car park and headed straight for the elevator with his suitcase, pressing the button to their floor with an urgency, he wasn't aware off, tapping his foot in a fast pace.

He had put his phone into the car charger, as soon, as he had entered the car at the airport, so at least he was able to check up on the time, but seeing all the notifications coming through of missed calls from Patrick, didn't help him ease. He hoped Pat had fallen asleep. 

Jonny hadn't wasted time on calling back, he only accelerated to get back home as fast as he could instead, after noticing. Seeing the elevator door open up on his floor of Trump Tower, made him sigh in relief for the first time, as he pulled out his key card to open the door to apartment #8819.

 

Patrick didn't hear the door go, only as the first footsteps and the sound of a suitcase being dragged across the wooden floor, echoes around the hallway, he suddenly took in what that meant. 

Jonathan was back. He had just left his suitcase next to the bedroom door probably, like he always did.

Jonny had come back after all and here he was sitting, bleeding with his pullover clapped over his injured arm. He didn't know what to do. He felt like a mice in front of the waiting cat, he wanted to hide away somewhere.

The moment Jonny set foot into their home, he knew something was up and wrong - really, really wrong. He simply knew it and his gaze quickly scanned his surroundings. The door to their bed room half way open, but otherwise appearing empty, the door leading to the bathroom closed and soft light coming from the living room. His stomach heaved, as Jonny braced himself for what would await him.

 

“Patrick?” he softly called out, turning the corner, seeing his boyfriend curled up on the sofa, blue eyes wide, traces of tears on his cheeks, his arm curled around his pullover and pressed to his front.

“Hi Pat, mon cher.” Jonathan said, tone all gentle and approached him, Pat's eyes turned even wider as he whimpered. Jonny crouched down next to him stroking the tears away with his thumb softly and a strand of Patrick's blonde short hair behind his ear.

“Hey, it's okay chéri, I'm back. It's all fine now.” he cooed, trying to comfort his crying boyfriend, who shook his head in response, leaning forward to push his face into the fabric of Jonny's jumper, hiding from his questioning gaze. 

How could he have doubt this man? How could Patrick even had dared to think Jonny would leave him, he thought to himself, as he wept into the Canadian’s chest, who cradled him softly, not missing the way Patrick was still curled up around his right arm.

“Hey mon cher, come on! What's wrong? Why are you so scared?” Jonathan asked, pressing soft kisses onto Pat's hair. Patrick sobbed louder, not really answering.

“It's okay, it's going to be fine. I'm back home again. The stupid flight was delayed, because of that damn blizzard.” Jonny explained, his gaze wandering over to the TV, where the news reporter was reading out about the blizzard, right at that moment. His gaze flickered over the table, as he hold the younger guy close, stroking his back in slow patterns to get him to calm down, as something caught his eye. The light was reflecting on metal and the spark of it had caught Jonathan's attention. 

He sighed, spotting the dried blood on the edges immediately and the crumpled drawing underneath, smeared with drops of red, covered in thick black lines, making it unable to identify what it once had been.

 

“Oh Pat. I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry.” Jonny sighed, knowing fully well he was too late. 

“Come on, how bad is it?” Jonathan asked softly, voice strained with worry,  trying to get Patrick up into a sitting position, who refused to let go of him. Jonny pulled him into his lap, smoothing down the hair in Pat's neck.

“It's ok, You are going to be fine. I'm not mad at you. I still love you.” he soothed, trying his best to reassure the blonde young boy. 

“Let me have a look at it. Let me make it better, mon cher.” he tried his hardest to keep his own tears at bay. He needed to be strong for Patrick now. 

Pat curled up closer, too ashamed of himself, but he knew Jonny wouldn't stop worrying and take him to the hospital in a heartbeat, if he refused his help. Jonathan hushed more words of comfort into his boyfriend’s ear, both in english as well as in french,  as those tear stained blue eyes finally focused on him, for longer than a fraction of a second and Patrick nodded once, allowing Jonny to pull his loved one's arm over to himself. The Canadian softly removed Patrick’s cramped up fingers from the material, lifting the edge of it carefully slowly, which made Pat hiss and flinch in return as the fabric, sticking to the wounds was ripped off by the motion, causing new blood to appear.

“It's ok mon cher. I'm going to make it better I promise.” Jonny whispered, pressing the fabric back onto the gashes, scooping Patrick up in his arms and carrying him to the bathroom, where they kept the first aid kit. His heart was totally crestfallen, but he would do anything to help his love. He knew how much Patrick hated going to hospital to get stitched up, needing to explain, that he had done this to himself, had brought it up on himself. Scared that they would admit him to the psychiatric ward, where he couldn’t see Jonny at all. 

Jonathan knew, that this would only make matters worse, even though he was aware, that Patrick needed help. But if he could stop the bleeding with the supplies they had at home, this would be enough for now. He hated seeing Patrick like this, still crying hard, as Jonny assessed the damage and patched him up.


End file.
